Torn
by LeaO'Neill
Summary: The Strike Team takes on meth cooks...a kid is killed...Dutch and Wyms investigate a vengful killer
1. Default Chapter

TORN  
  
(I don't own any of the characters of The Shield. They belong to Shawn Ryan, FX, and their creators)  
  
CHAPTER ONE  
  
It was dark and a drizzle steadily fell from the sky, making the pavement blacker and wet. The light from the orange mercury vapor street lamps didn't illuminate much in the deserted alleyways and streets. The black sea water rolled against the docked boats making a sloshing sound in the otherwise quiet pier.  
  
The Strike Team moved in, cautiously, on the dockside warehouse. They began, together five dark clothed shapes with the glint of steel in their hands. Vic Mackey, wearing a dark sweatshirt and skullcap, took the lead, followed by his right hand, Shane Vendrell. Vendrell was similarly clothed. Splitting up, one going left, the other right, were Curtis Lemanski and Tavon Garris. Bringing up the rear was Ronnie Gardocki.  
  
Inside the warehouse was supposed to be a huge meth lab. According to Vic's sources, there was a big shipment brewing for delivery next week. It was now or never, shut down the lab, bust the cooks and stop the shipment of killer crank.  
  
Vic and Shane gave Lem and Tavon time to get around back and get inside through the door they'd jimmied open earlier. Finally, minutes ticking by like hours, Vic gave Shane a nod and they forced in the front entrance.  
  
Weapons drawn and senses on high alert, they burst into the warehouse. They could smell the fumes of the toxic chemicals used for making methamphetamine. They spotted three men in the center, where all the lights were. That was where the lab was set up. The meth makers were in the process of cooking up a new batch of product.  
  
The men had heard the noise and scattered.  
  
"Freeze LAPD!" Vic shouted at the fleeing suspects.  
  
Shane went to the right; the direction through some high crates one of the men had taken. Vic had charged through the makeshift lab after one of the others. He knew his boys had the exits covered and the third wouldn't get far.  
  
Vic tackled his subject just feet from a staircase. The guy fell hard and Vic slammed down on top of him.  
  
"I told you to freeze ass wipe!" Vic re affirmed, yanking the man's arm behind him to snap on cuffs.  
  
Tavon and Lem had the third suspect literally run right into their arms. The man was so panicked, he didn't even see the two cops until he was right in front of them. By then, it was no use. Tavon held the man while Lem put on handcuffs.  
  
Shane darted through the oversized wooden crates used for transporting cargo on large ships. He cautiously rounded the corners, expecting gunfire. He spotted his suspect's back, dashing ahead, then turning a corner of the building. Shane pursued. He slowly rounded the corner, thinking he would have the suspect cornered. But when he turned, he cussed. There was a third door. It must have been hidden from the outside, for no one on the team had spotted it earlier when they cased the building. The door was just swinging closed.  
  
Shane jogged to the door and cautiously went thought it. Sure enough, it opened just enough for a man to get through before it stopped, hitting against some crates stacked ten high outside. No one would have seen it from the outside.  
  
Shane slipped through the narrow passage made between the crates and the building's wall and found himself in the dark shipping alley, leading to the dock. He saw someone in the alley ahead, trying to hide behind some fuel barrels.  
  
Shane dropped low, expecting an ambush.  
  
"LAPD! Come outta there!" he commanded.  
  
His 'suspect' came out from behind the barrels and was about to make a dash for it.  
  
"Stop right there! "  
  
The shadowy figure whirled toward Shane, a glint flashing in his hand.  
  
Shane fired his weapon twice in rapid succession. The man dropped to the pavement.  
  
Shane took a moment to breathe. He then carefully advanced on the suspect.  
  
Shane looked down at the person he'd just shot, expecting to clear a weapon from the man's hand. In shock and disbelief, Shane suddenly realized there was no weapon. The glint he'd seen, now lying on the wet pavement, was a screwdriver, nothing more. And the suspect was not the man he'd glimpsed and chased through the meth lab. It was a kid, a boy of maybe 14 or 15, who was dirty and dressed in shabby clothing with shaggy blonde hair.  
  
"Shit!" Shane cussed and dropped to his knees, He shoved his gun into his waistband. He felt for a pulse on the kid's neck. He could find none. The blood from two chest wounds was pooling on the pavement, black on black.  
  
"No, dammit!" Shane yelled, not finding a pulse. He hit the kid in the chest with a fist, and then began chest compressions. He did CPR for a good two minutes, to no avail.  
  
Vic and Lem ran from the back then, having heard the shots. Ronnie and Tavon were holding the two suspects for the approaching squad cars.  
  
Vic saw Shane who appeared frantic over a body.  
  
Vic ran to the scene. He saw the kid, the screwdriver, Shane giving CPR and he deduced what had happened.  
  
Vic checked for a pulse and like Shane, found none. He checked the kid's pupils, which even in the dim light, he could see were fixed and dilated.  
  
"Shane!" he yelled. "He's gone!"  
  
"No!" Shane returned, his adrenaline rushing, his head feeling like it would explode. He continued rapid chest compressions.  
  
Vic grabbed his arms, roughly pulling him away. "He's gone!" he repeated.  
  
Shane was pulled off balance and fell against Vic and the pavement, the shock beginning to set in.  
  
"What happened?" Lem asked, witnessing everything, taking in the scene.  
  
"It was the wrong guy," Shane mumbled. "This was just a kid."  
  
Lem stared at the body. "Shit," he said.  
  
The wail of sirens was getting louder.  
  
"Vic, what do we do?" Lem now asked. He wondered if they were going to cover this up, like so many things they had done in the past.  
  
Vic swallowed hard. "Shane think. What happened?"  
  
Shane stared at the body, but spoke to Vic. "I followed the guy from the lab. He went out a hidden door. I got out here, I saw someone hiding. I thought it was him. He stood and ran, I told him to stop, he turned, I saw the metal, I thought it was a gun. I fired. I killed him. Vic, I killed a kid!" Shane was loosing it.  
  
Vic shoved his cap into his pocket, running a hand over his now damp bald head. "Okay, look, just tell it like that. Exactly like that. I'll back you up, say I was coming up from the side and the kid turned on me. You were protecting me, that's all. Lem, where was Tavon?"  
  
"He was in the back, taking down one of the cooks."  
  
"He didn't see me at all?"  
  
Lem shook his head. "I don't think so. No, he was with the guy the whole time. We heard the shots and I left. He was taking the guy out."  
  
Vic nodded. "Okay, we're good. The kid may or may not have been in the lab. At any rate, Shane and me were in the alley, following a guy, kid comes out, turns on me with a weapon, Shane fires. Lem, stick to your point of view. You heard the shots and came to see if we needed backup. I'll talk to Ronnie."  
  
Shane was still sitting on the wet pavement.  
  
"Shane, can you keep this together? Tell me now if you can't and you'll have to face the IA board with no backup."  
  
Shane looked up at Vic, his face expressionless, wet from the rainy mist. "I'll keep it together."  
  
The sirens and flashing red lights pulled up in front of the warehouse.  
  
"Lem, go get the duty officer and get a wagon back here." Lemanski trotted toward the front of the building.  
  
Vic was worried. He'd never seen his friend so shaken up, not even after Terry Crowley's death.  
  
He pulled Shane to his feet. Shane kept staring at the body.  
  
Vic turned him away. "Quit dwelling on it right now. That kid was not out here cause he was late to church. He had a weapon. He was hanging out behind a meth lab for God's sake! We don't know he wasn't involved with the other guys."  
  
"And we don't know that he was," Shane hissed. "He was just a kid."  
  
"Look, lets stick to our story, find out who all the players are and go from there, okay?"  
  
Shane nodded. He knew Vic was thinking clearer than he was. He had to listen to him. But deep down inside, he knew this was bad. It was very bad.  
  
*****************************************************************  
  
The Sergeant on duty took Shane and Vic's statement. Captain Aceveda made it down from the station when he heard there'd been another officer involved shooting of a possible civilian, this time involving one of the Strike Team. It had been too much to hope it had been Mackey, but Vendrell was second best. He would pull for suspension, he knew that even before hearing the details.  
  
Aceveda approached Mackey.  
  
"What happened here?"  
  
Mackey shrugged. "We raided a meth lab. Looks like couple of hundred thousand dollars of crank we got before it hit the streets."  
  
"And the minor that Vendrell blew away?"  
  
"We're not sure how he was involved. He came at me with a weapon, Shane did what any one would have done."  
  
Aceveda nodded. "A fully loaded screw driver, is that correct?" he asked sarcastically.  
  
Mackey did a slow burn. "Look Captain, it was dark, it went down fast. I thought he had a knife. Shane thought he had a knife or a gun. Either way, even a god dammed screw driver can make a helluva hole in your guts."  
  
"Well, we'll just have to see what IAD has to say about that."  
  
"IAD? There's no reason for it to go to IAD. I saw the whole thing. It was a clean shoot."  
  
"How convenient. But luckily, policy dictates that it still be brought to the board. And Vendrell's on paid leave until it does." The Captain turned on his heel and was gone.  
  
**************************************************************************  
  
It was a lot later that night, after all the paperwork had been processed, that the Strike Team was ready to close shop.  
  
Vic had spoken with Ronnie, who agreed that it was best if Vic said he'd been with Shane at the time of the shooting. His story was that Vic had nabbed one of the meth cooks, turned him over to Ronnie and then went with Shane out the side door. As long as Tavon didn't start asking questions, they'd be okay. And so far, he had no suspicion.  
  
It was nearly midnight when Vic dropped Shane off at his house.  
  
"You gonna be okay?" Vic asked. Shane, who'd not said much since they'd gotten back to the station, nodded.  
  
"Look, the board will clear you. This thing will blow over in a day or two. You got nothing to worry about."  
  
Shane looked at his partner. Was it really that simple for him?  
  
"Yeah," he just said. And he got out of the Durango.  
  
"Look, call me if you need anything, okay?"  
  
Shane shuffled up the porch stairs and inside. He didn't even look back.  
  
Shane took off his badge and laid it on the desk, like he did every night. He went to take his gun out of his holster and put it on the desk as well, but he remembered it was gone. His weapon had been used to kill a kid and until all the ballistics reports were back and he was reviewed by the Internal Affairs Department, he didn't have his gun. He took off the empty side holster and set it on the desk.  
  
He went out of habit to the fridge and got a beer. Then back to the living room. He untucked his blue denim shirt from his jeans and unbuttoned it but didn't take it off. He sat down on the couch, put his boots up on the scarred coffee table and lit a cigarette. He found he was down to his last one. The night had been so stressful he'd smoked more than he usually did.  
  
Was this what it all came down to? The life of some kid, whose name he didn't even know, was only as valuable as weather or not he still had a job? Was it as easy as Vic made it, to just dismiss? That kid had been somebody's son. Somebody loved him. Now somebody would have to bury him. What kind of a line was there between being a cop and being a paid executioner?  
  
Shane's mind was reeling. He couldn't stay here. He would drive himself nuts or drink himself into a coma. Before he could do either, he grabbed his keys. Leaving the rest of the beer and not bothering to button his shirt, Shane ran from the house.  
  
***************************************************************************  
Stefanie Lee Knight was sleeping soundly when her doorbell rang. She groggily pulled herself from bed and the dream she was having. She clicked on a lamp. Who the hell could it be at nearly one in the morning?  
  
She made her way to the impatient bell-ringing caller at the front door.  
  
Upon looking out the peephole, she wasn't too surprised to see Shane. She was however surprised to see how bad he looked, his clothes disheveled, shirt unbuttoned, and his face tired and pale. She quickly opened the door.  
  
Shane stood there, looking a bit like a lost puppy. "Sorry," he said. "I guess I woke you."  
  
Stevie shook her head. "It's okay. Come in."  
  
Stevie and Shane hadn't been as close lately as they had once been. They had dealt as best they both could, although separately, with the miscarriage of their baby. But they hadn't returned to any kind of relationship yet. And neither was sure what the other wanted. Not the kind of hurt that a romantic relationship would leave, that was certain enough. Maybe if either one of them would stop being stubborn for one minute and talk to the other, they might find out what there was left, but neither knew how to start.  
  
Shane looked at Stevie, in her gray pajama bottoms and tank top. Somehow he saw her as a ten year old girl, his best childhood friend; the one he had comforted when she ran over to his house, afraid of the thunder and lightning; the one who'd held him after his grandmother died; the little girl who had bruises on her back after her father beat her. He missed his friend. He wanted her back.  
  
"What happened?" she asked, going with him into the living room and turning on a lamp.  
  
Shane sank down onto the couch. "I killed a kid."  
  
Stevie sat beside him. She had known it had to be something like that, something at work, something bad. "You wanna talk about it?" she asked softly.  
  
"I thought he was a suspect. I thought he had a gun. I shot him. A fifteen year old kid with a screw driver."  
  
"How bad does it look?"  
  
Shane shrugged. "Vic's backing me up."  
  
Stevie nodded. She was well aware of how the Strike Team took care of each other. She knew Vic wouldn't let Shane take much heat over it. So that part didn't worry her. Shane's state of mind however did. He was torn up. They sat there for a while without talking. It was something they had always been able to do. It was comfortable silence.  
  
"You want me to make you something to eat?" she finally asked.  
  
Shane shook his head no. "I just didn't want to be alone."  
  
Stevie laid a hand on his shoulder. It was a simple gesture of comfort. "You can always come to me," she said. "Tired?"  
  
"Exhausted."  
  
Stevie stood up and took his hand. She pulled him off the couch. She took him to her bedroom. She knew he was here for comfort and nothing more. And that was fine with her. That was a part of their relationship she understood. That was something they had always been there for each other for.  
  
In the room, Shane sat on the bed and pulled off his boots. He then lay down on the bed.  
  
Stevie put on the stereo, turning the volume down low. She always had trouble getting to sleep without some music on. The CD she had in the player was one of oldies like Aaron Neville "Tell It like It is", Dobie Gray "Drift Away", The Platters "Smoke gets In your eyes" and the Brook Benton classic "Rainy Night in Georgia."  
  
Stevie lay down beside Shane, his back to her front, and she curled against him, her arm draping around his waist. She knew he needed to feel safe, just like she had as a child, when in her own home she was not safe. Shane had always promised her that she'd never get hurt in his house. And she'd felt safe with him. It was still the same. In less than five minutes, Stevie could tell by his even breathing, he was asleep. She pulled the sheet up over them both. The cool breeze and scent of rain drifted in through the open window and gently lulled Stevie to sleep as well. Tomorrow maybe that could deal with this thing that was tearing Shane up. And she'd tell him why most of her things were packed up in boxes. 


	2. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO ******************************************************************  
Dutch Wagenbaugh was handling several investigations, like he usually did, wanting to keep busy, keep looking good in the 'ratings' of the department. He and Claudette Wyms were working a double homicide that Dutch believed was also related to the Strike Team's bust at the meth lab over the night. He wanted to question one of the suspects they'd arrested in the murder and that was his first priority of the morning. He'd of course heard about Shane Vendrell's shooting and following leave of absence. Although Dutch didn't agree with most of the Strike Team's tactics, he did however see the results.  
  
Claudette Wyms had just come in, carrying her coffee and looking almost chipper, when Aceveda called them up to his office.  
  
"You didn't set him on the war path already, did you?" Claudette asked Dutch, shooting him an accusatory look.  
  
"Me?" he asked with a shrug.  
  
Aceveda was pouring through a stack of files when the two detectives came into his office.  
  
"Morning Captain," Wyms greeted.  
  
"There was a shooting last night, I'm sure you heard, that Detective Vendrell was involved in," Aceveda said, getting right to the point, not bothering with pleasantries.  
  
Dutch nodded. "A civilian minor."  
  
Aceveda handed him the file.. "Jimmy Walsh," he read "Age 15, runaway. Picked up Oct of last for shoplifting. No known gang affiliation. Parents Noreen and Tom, last known address in Big Spring, Texas." Dutch frowned.. "Okay, well, officer involved shooting, IAD's handling the case."  
  
"That's right," Aceveda agreed. "They're handling the shoot. I want you two to investigate the kid."  
  
Claudette glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "For what?"  
  
"Well, I want to know if he was involved with the methamphetamine lab, or if he was just maybe hanging out down by the docks."  
  
Claudette saw through the Captain. "Is this your politically correct way of telling us to find out if a cop killed an innocent civilian or a street punk who probably didn't have a chance for a long life span anyway?" Wyms was beginning to get acid reflux, just thinking about the implications of what Aceveda was asking.  
  
Aceveda just looked at her with his piercing eyes. "I just want the truth."  
  
"And you just want justification for kicking Vendrell off the Strike team?" Claudette added.  
  
"Claudette, I didn't think you and Mackey were buddies. I thought we were together in our feelings that the Strike Team needs to be taken down a notch."  
  
"I don't play dirty politics. They go down straight or not at all."  
  
Aceveda shrugged. "Well, I'm only after the truth. How it boils down isn't up to me. I'm asking you and Dutch to look into this."  
  
"Asking or ordering?" Wyms asked, the acid in her throat bubbling now.  
  
Another shrug. "However you want to perceive it. Have something on my desk by tomorrow."  
  
He went back to his files, dropping his eyes from the detectives, effectively dismissing them.  
  
Dutch and Claudette left the office. Dutch felt as if he'd just stepped between two rival bullies and had been hit in the crossfire several times.  
  
"That was ugly," he commented, as they headed down the stairs.  
  
"More and more every day," Wyms agreed, although she was talking about something else entirely.  
  
**************************************************************************** ***  
  
Tavon Garris was in the break room when Dutch came in to get coffee.  
  
"Morning," Wagenbaugh greeted the younger detective.  
  
Tavon returned the greeting.  
  
"Good bust last night," Dutch told him, pouring sugar into his cup.  
  
"Yeah. Thanks."  
  
"One of the suspects might be involved in another case I'm working. Maybe we can kill two birds, you know?"  
  
Tavon, who'd finished his breakfast burrito, nodded.  
  
Wagenbaugh continued. "Captain wants me and Claudette to look into that other suspect, the kid who got shot. See what his involvment was."  
  
Garris just nodded, getting up to throw away his trash. He had no idea why Dutch was chatting him up.  
  
Dutch finished preparing his coffee. "Well," he gave Tavon an awkward 'thumbs up'. "Keep up the good work."  
  
"Yeah," Garris answered, heading back toward the Strike Team office.  
  
Vic came in shortly.  
  
"Wagenbaugh's working the Walsh kid," Tavon told him casually.  
  
Vic frowned. What was Dutchboy doing with that case? He wondered. He glanced at Tavon. "Yeah?"  
  
Garris nodded.  
  
"Well, he can investigate all he wants. The shoot was clean. IAD's working that."  
  
Tavon handed Vic a file. He'd taken it from Dutch's desk after leaving the break room. It was the kid's file.  
  
Vic gave Tavon a look. He wasn't sure why Garris would have gotten the file, but he was grateful. He needed some info to go on.  
  
Vic read it over. There wasn't a damn thing tying the dead Jimmy Walsh to the meth guys. He'd only been picked up once since he'd been here, assumable since he ran away last year. Parents had been contacted then, but apparently hadn't managed to get to their son in time. He'd been released to the JPO and skipped out again. No, there was nothing in this file that would make Shane feel any better about the shoot. If anything, it would be worse. Kid was from Texas. A small town, Southern kid, just like Shane.  
  
Vic wasn't actually out to prove the Walsh kid was dirty, but he was out to find out why he was back behind that meth lab at night with a screwdriver.  
  
"Find what you were looking for?" Tavon asked, closing his folder.  
  
Vic shook his head. "Nah. Listen, Aceveda's out campaigning, I want you and Ronnie to go over those two in the cage with a fine tooth comb. I want the third cook."  
  
Tavon nodded. "You hittin' the street?"  
  
Vic nodded. "I've got some CI's I want to talk to, see if they've got anything about our boys." It was partially true. He was also going to find out where Jimmy Walsh had been living and hanging with. He took the picture from the file. When he walked out, it was obvious that Dutch was looking for a file. The file Vic held in his hand.  
Vic waited until Dutch got up and walked back to the break room, probably thinking he might have left the file there. Vic walked casually by Wagenbaugh's desk and dropped the file on top. He continued out the door.  
  
Claudette, coming out of the restroom, saw Vic replace the file. She stared after him, her eyes like coals. She could see right through his smooth lines and tough machismo. He was dirty. She knew that. But it still burned her behind that Aceveda was trying to get her and Dutch to try and do his dirty work.  
  
Claudette went and picked up the much-coveted file. Okay, focus. The issue here was real: was the dead street kid involved with the meth lab, or an innocent. That was what she and Dutch would have to find out. And that was for the kid, not for Aceveda, or Mackey or anyone else.  
  
****************************************************************  
  
Stevie was sitting in her kitchen drinking coffee and reading the morning paper when Shane finally got up. He splashed some water on his face before heading into the kitchen. He tripped over a packing box full of newspaper wrapped things in the bedroom. He noticed then that there was more boxes scattered about and Stevie's walls were all but bare.  
  
He went into the kitchen.  
  
"Hey sleeping beauty," Stevie said, without glancing up.  
  
Shane helped himself to a cup of coffee. "What's with the packing?" he asked, never one to beat around the bush.  
  
Stevie lowered the paper. She looked over to where Shane leaned against the counter, sipping the hot black coffee.  
  
"I told you before. I'm going home," she said, shrugging.  
  
Shane raised an eyebrow. "I thought that was.before." He meant to say 'when you were pregnant', but stopped. He didn't know how to talk about it.  
  
"I've been wanting to for a long time. It's rough out here Shane. It's lonely."  
  
If she was trying to make him feel like shit, it was working. He stared at the black barbed wire ribbon tattoo that wound around her left bicep.  
  
"You've been telling me since I came here to go home. I'm finally taking your advice. Just stubborn I guess. It only took getting shot, twice, my car stolen, my partner busted for moving dope and me getting hooked on pills, and getting my heart shattered into a thousand pieces for me to see the light."  
  
Shane stared at the tile floor.  
  
"I never meant to hurt you," he finally said.  
  
"I know that Shane. But I got hurt anyhow. And I keep getting hurt. And I'm tired of it. We've been friends too long to screw that up. So I don't want to. I want to leave knowing that I still have my best friend."  
  
"Where'd it get so messed up?"  
  
"When I dragged my heart into it. Shane, I've loved you for so many years, I don't know how to stop. But I have to stop. I have to move on. I know that you and me, we can't ever be no more than we were as kids. But at least I know that now. And if I hadn't ever tried, I wouldn't. And I'd go through life wondering."  
  
"Jesus, Stevie, why didn't you ever tell me?"  
  
She shook her head, stunned that he still was so oblivious. "When Shane? At the prom, when you looked at me for the first time like I was a woman, not a kid? At graduation when you kissed me like I had never been kissed? When I became a cop so we'd still have everything in common? When I moved out here, to be close to you? When I started taking pills to try and forget about you? When you finally made love to me and I tried to believe it meant something?" She shook her head. She felt like crying, but she couldn't. She'd cried all the tears over Shane Vendrell that she would ever cry. She shrugged. "I guess I just thought you knew," she finally said, quietly.  
  
Shane stood there in silence. He realized a lot right then. How stupid he must be. It dawned on him then that the necklace Stevie wore, a Chinese emblem of her birth year, he'd given her for Christmas about two years ago. He knew she'd gotten him a gift. She always did, every birthday, every Christmas. The necklace was the last thing he remembered giving her. How one sided this whole thing had been. As far back as Stevie said? How could he not have seen it?  
  
Stevie picked up her cup and stood, carrying it to the sink. "So, now we got all that out in the open, you wanna help me pack?"  
  
Shane was still a little confused and stunned, nothing knew for him.  
  
"I don't know what to say."  
  
Stevie shrugged. "I'm not asking you to say anything. What's done is done. I already put in my notice. I'm burning leave up now. Next week, I'm in a U-haul to Georgia."  
  
Shane knew there was no changing her mind. She'd always been like that. Stubborn. Like him.  
  
"I'm sorry," he finally managed as she washed and dried her cup.  
  
"Don't be. I'm not sorry for any of it. Just sorry about the way it turned out. But, life goes on. Now are you or aren't you going to help me pack."  
Shane shrugged. He was on paid leave until the board heard his case and the investigation was done. He knew there was more to say, but he could also see that there was no pushing Stevie to talk when she didn't want to. "I guess I am."  
  
***************************************************************************  
Dutch and Claudette were about to leave The Barn, when a dispatcher came over to Wagenbaugh's desk.  
"Got one for you. Captain said to make sure you two took it."  
She handed Dutch a sheet of paper with an address.  
"What is it?"  
"Homicide," she told him before heading back to her post.  
Dutch looked at Claudette and shrugged.  
"For the love of Mike. Just how much does the Captain think we need on our plate? Does he or doesn't he want us on the Walsh kid?"  
"It's good to have fans," Wyms said with a sigh.  
  
The address was down by the docks. The two detectives saw the crime scene, blocked off with yellow tape, was near a pier. A crowd of onlookers were milling around the outside of the taped off line.  
Dutch and Claudette made their way over. Two patrol cops stood just inside the lines and the Crime Scene Investigation Unit was taking evidence.  
The body was seated in a lawn chair, fishing gear nearby, one line cast into the water over the pier. Dutch made his way over.  
"White male, late fifties," he pondered. "One head shot and. eeew," he interjected looking down at the bloody mess. "One to the genitals?" He looked at the Medical examiner on scene. Lucy Kei.  
  
She nodded. "That's what you've got. The estimated time of death was about six thirty this morning."  
"And ID?"  
She handed him a plastic bag with a driver's license and one credit card inside. The name read William Henzler.  
Claudette, who'd been interviewing the first officer on scene and the man who'd discovered the body, another fisherman, came over now. She looked at the body.  
"That's ugly," she commented.  
"Yeah," Dutch agreed. "Doesn't look like your standard homicide. Someone was really pissed at this guy."  
"Can we wrap up here Detective?" the medical examiner asked.  
"Oh, yeah, sure," Dutch told her.  
"Tag 'em and bag 'em boys," she called to the other two from the coroner's office.  
  
**************************************************  
  
"William Henzler," Dutch read, back at the barn. "58. Owned a boat repair shop for twenty three years, divorced, no children. No criminal record. No outstanding debts." Dutch shrugged. "Basically, your boring guy next door."  
"Well, somebody didn't think so," Claudette said. "Someone was angry enough to blow him away in a very.disturbing manner. No witnesses, no one heard shots. Could have been a silencer."  
They walked back to their car. "well, we'll check out his business. Maybe he was in to something dirty, a loan shark or something." "But why?" Claudette mused. "He didn't own anything on his shop, or in his personal life. No car, no new boat, nothing fancy."  
  
Their opinion of Henzler as a 'boring' guy didn't change much as they went though his shop, which was closed. They found nothing in his business records to indicate he owned money to anyone or was involved in any shady operations. No names stood out in his receipts that might indicate he had done any work for any high profile crime figures. Dutch left the shop shaking his head. "Well, I don't get it."  
"Come on son, lets not give up just yet." They went to Henzler's house, not far from the shop. It too was very plain.  
Inside, they found the same organization as at the shop.  
"Hey, look at this," Dutch picked up a framed photo on Henzler's desk, about the only one they'd found in the house of a personal nature. Dutch handed it to Claudette with a gloved hand.  
"Looks like from back in his prime."  
The picture showed Henzler and four other men, all in their twenties, posed in front of a beach house. Dutch opened the back of the picture on a whim.  
"Dave Petersen, Greg Kazlawski, Sam Holligan, Gene Schultz, Bill Henzler. 1975," he read off the back.  
"Well, I guess that's something," Claudette said.  
"If these are the only friends this guy had, maybe he kept in contact with them."  
"If he did, it wasn't though the mail," Claudette mused. She'd gone through his correspondence and old letters in several shoe boxes in the office closet. Nothing of a personal nature caught her eye.  
"Lets get back to the Barn and run these guys down."  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Vic and Lem were on the street in the area around the meth lab. Not only were they trying to track down the cook who'd gotten away, they were also trying to locate anyone who'd known fifteen year old Jimmy Walsh.  
They had split up, each taking a section of the run down apartment tenements that lined the dirty alleyway.  
Lem had run into a group of teens two girls and a boy, all looked like runaways to him. They didn't want to answer his questions or identify the picture of Jimmy, but Lem promised them he wouldn't run them in and that there might be money in it if they talked.  
"What kinda money we talkin'?" one of the boys asked.  
"Enough. If you got somethin' to say," Lem prodded.  
"Lets see it."  
Lem pulled out a roll of twenties he and Vic had taken from their 'private account' to finance some information. He peeled off a few.  
"Okay, okay. I knew Jimmy. We all did. He lived with us."  
"What was he into? What was he doing down on the docks the night he was killed?" "You mean the night your cop buddy blew him away?" one of the girls asked hotly.  
Lem knew that the story in the paper read that the youth had been killed during "an altercation" with police.  
"You were there, weren't you?" Lem asked her.  
She turned red. She didn't answer.  
"Look, if we know why Jimmy was down there, maybe it'll look better for him."  
"He don't care no more, does he?"  
"No, but right now the cops are saying he's involved with the meth dudes. I'd like to make it right for Jimmy's parents. If he wasn't."  
"No way was Jimmy in with those guys," the girl told Lem.  
"Then what were you doing down there?"  
  
**********************************************************************  
"Now we've got something," Claudette told Dutch, walking to his desk. She had been running down the whereabouts of the four friends in the photograph. Dutch looked up. "Of the five friends, three of them are now dead. Gene Shrultz, Greg Kazlawski and now Bill Henzler."  
"Well, it was a long time ago-" Dutch began.  
"Shultz and Kazlawski were also murdered."  
"That changes things a bit. Unsolved?"  
"According the newspapers. Kazlawski was killed four years ago in his home in LongBeach. Two gunshot wounds."  
"One in the head and one in the genitals?"  
"Bingo. Not as much info on Schultz. He was murdered last year, but it was out in Nevada. I put a call in to the Reno PD. I'm waiting for a call from the investigator."  
Dutch's eyes lit up. "If Schultz was killed the same way, we're looking for a serial killer."  
"Maybe not a serial exactly. But someone who wanted revenge on these five guys." "Any leads on the remaining two?"  
  
"Petersen lives in San Francisco and Holligan has a downtown LA address."  
"We better get over there before someone decides to make him the next crime report headline." **************************************************************************  
  
***************************************************************************  
  
Dutch and Claudette waited for Sam Holligan in the lobby of the bank where he was a loan officer. When he came out to greet them, he looked very professional in a suit and tie, but his face gave away his apprehension.  
"Detectives, why don't we go to my office?"  
They followed him back to his private office.  
"I suppose you're here because of Bill."  
"Yes. You heard he was killed this morning?"  
Sam nodded, rubbing a hand over his balding head. "What a shame. Bill was a good guy."  
"You still kept in contact with him?" Claudette asked.  
"Well, not much. I hadn't seen him in about five years."  
"But you used to be good friends," Dutch interjected.  
"Back in college."  
"And there were four others?"  
Sam nodded.  
"You know that two of your other fiends are also dead? Greg Kaslawski and Gene Schultz were also murdered. Did you know that?"  
Sam looked stunned. "No. I knew about Greg, but Gene? I didn't know he was dead. I hadn't seen him in over fifteen years."  
"Mr Holligan, it looks like a very disturbing pattern is happening. We believe someone is killing your friends. Which either makes you a target or a suspect," Dutch told him  
Holligan bristled.  
"Do you know of any reason someone would want to murder your friends, or you for that matter, in a very unsavory way?" Claudette pressed.  
Holligan immediately shook his head. "No. I can't imagine."  
"Were you any your buddies involved in anything back then, drugs maybe? " Dutch asked. "No, never," Holligan denied. "We partied, everyone did. But not like that." "Well, someone wanted your friend dead in a very bad way. That person may be after you as well."  
"This is insane," Holligan protested. "What are you people doing about this?"  
  
"We're trying to find a reason why someone would want you, or your friends, dead. Then we can find that someone."  
"Well, I don't know," he said disgustedly. "Now, I'm sorry I can't help you. I have appointments." He stood up.  
Dutch and Claudette left.  
"He knows," Claudette said as they left the bank, their shoes clicking on the marble floor.  
"He sure does," Dutch agreed.  
  
**************************************************************************** ***  
  
Lem took the girl, whose name she told him, was Jinx, back to Vic, who was buying a hamburger. They were in front of a panel truck converted into the taco/hamburger stand. A Hispanic cook was frying burgers inside. A radio was blasting mostly Mexican music from inside. At that moment, an old Ricky Martin Spanglish tune, "Copa de la Vida", or the "Cup of Life" was pulsing from the speakers. The cook was flipping burgers in time with the music.  
Vic, waiting for his food from the window of the small greasy spoon joint, looked at the girl with Lem. She looked maybe 15, in ragged clothes, but clean. She didn't look like she was turning tricks yet. She also didn't look cracked out or high on anything.  
"Vic, this is Jinx. She was Jimmy's girlfriend. She was with him last night."  
Vic didn't think that would be good.  
"Yeah, what were you two doing out there?"  
Jinx shrugged. "We sure weren't attacking cops with screw drivers," she said sarcastically.  
"Cut the bullshit little girl. I can make your life hell, or I can buy you a burger and let you get on with your day. We can go for a ride to juvy, or you can go shopping. Your choice."  
"Look, me and Jimmy were just trying to get our stuff back."  
"What stuff? Drugs?"  
Jinx shook her head. "We're not into that crap. Look, this guy who lives down by where we were staying, he broke into our place. We didn't have much, a little TV, some food, blankets. He took our stuff!" she was angry that someone could take from those who had so little.  
"Who was the guy?"  
"He was in that warehouse last night. He steals anything he can to buy meth from those two you busted. They give him little shit jobs around their labs as long as he keeps buying and bringing in customers."  
"Who's he?"  
  
"They call him Loco. I think his real last name is Fernandez. Jimmy just wanted to break in there and either get our stuff back, or you know, find something worth some cash so we could buy more."  
Vic gave all this some thought. Shane had been right. The kid wasn't involved with the dealers, so to speak. This wasn't going to bode well. Not with Shane, not with Wagenbaugh and Wyms when they turned up the same evidence, and not with Aceveda when he got their report. Sure as hell not with IAD when Aceveda paid them a courtesy call.  
The Hispanic handed Vic his food. Vic, who'd about lost his appetite anyway, handed the Styrofoam covered plate to the girl.  
"How long have you been living on the street?"  
"Six months," she told them, eyeing the food, but holding it as though she weren't hungry just then.  
"And you don't use or turn tricks?"  
She shook her head. "We got work sometimes, unloading on the docks. They know they can just pay us a little cash, not as much as they'd have to pay dock workers."  
"Where're you from?" Lem asked. "Kansas. And I ain't going back there," Jinx said defiantly. "My old man beat up on me and my mom until he killed her. I won't go back."  
Lem held up a hand. "No one said you were."  
"Look, why don't you go eat before it gets cold," Vic said, pointing to one of the two concrete tables that were placed near the food vendors. "Then we'll chat a little more."  
Jinx took her food to a table and sat down to eat, keeping a weary eye on the two cops.  
"What're we gonna do?" Lem asked Vic then. He too knew this didn't look good. "I mean, it was an accident, but Shane killed that kid." "I know, I know," Vic said with a sigh. "Look, we've gotta make sure this girl doesn't talk to anyone else. If we found her this easy, Dutchboy and his ball buster partner will find her eventually."  
"Well, you heard her. We can't send her home. Not if she's telling the truth about her father." "Let's stash her somewhere until I think of something." 


	3. Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Dutch had come across a name that cross-referenced with the five men who'd been college friends. Angie Holm. She had been in school with them as well, had dated two of the five and had been on their debate team.  
She had left school suddenly with no explanation in her senior year.  
Dutch showed Claudette the information he'd come up with.  
"Well, that's pretty thin," Claudette said.  
"But I also got this," he showed her another document. Claudette looked it over. "Okay, so nine months after she leave college, she has a baby. Not too unusual. She gets pregnant in college, the guy dumps her, add another single parent into the stats."  
"Maybe one of her five buddies was the father."  
Claudette sighed. She'd been looking into Holligan's records and found nothing. He had no other connection she could find with the deaths. When Schultz had been killed in fact, Holligan had been in Switzerland on business.  
"Okay, you follow your Angie Holm lead. I've got to get some info on the Walsh kid. Aceveda wants a preliminary report by tomorrow, remember?"  
Dutch shrugged. "Fine. But I think this serial homicide takes precedence over a shooting that IAD is going to investigate anyway." He shuffled off with his agenda. Claudette had her own.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Shane reluctantly helped Stevie pack seven years worth of living in the same house. Stevie, who'd donned shorts and a tank top, was doing some badly needed cleaning that included cleaning the dust bunnies out from behind the refrigerator and vacuuming the vents. Her house was a rental, but she wanted the large cleaning deposit back.  
  
"So, seriously," Shane asked, sweating from carting boxes around, "What are you going to do back home?"  
  
Stevie shrugged. "I dunno. My cousin Jan sent me some want ads. There's an opening in the sheriff's department."  
  
Shane grinned. "You, wearing one of those little 'Smokey the Bear' hats?"  
  
Stevie returned the smile. She tossed a damp towel at Shane's head. He ducked.  
  
"Yeah, why not?"  
  
"It'd mess up your hair, for one thing. Dark green isn't your color, either."  
  
Stevie just laughed.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Lem and Vic took the 15-year-old girl to a dive motel. Vic told her it was for her own protection. She had her own opinion, but she didn't share it. The cops were giving her food, money, and a roof over her head for the time being. That was enough for now.  
  
Jinx promised to stay in the room for at least 24 hours, provided someone bring her pizza and soda later.  
  
Vic sighed as they left the room and headed back to the Durango. "I don't know what we're going to do about her."  
  
"You think we can keep her hidden until IAD passes review on Shane?"  
  
"Not without help. Call Ronnie. He's gonna hav'ta baby sit."  
  
"The review is tomorrow. If we can keep her away from Claudette.." Lem shrugged.  
  
"Yeah. That's the if," Vic agreed.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Dutch had tracked Angie Holm to an address in North Hollywood. He pulled the car to a stop in front of the address. "You sure you got this right, son?" Claudette asked, staring at the building. The sign outside read "Grove Side Long Term Care Facility."  
Dutch looked at the address he'd gained from a credit card check.  
"Yeah, this is it."  
They went inside and found a reception desk inside the double front doors. "May I help you?" the girl at the desk asked brightly. "Detectives Holland and Wyms." He flashed his badge. "We're looking for an Angie Holm." The girl looked surprised. "Certainly. If you'll just sign in. She's in number 76. Go down all the way to the left then take the right hall. Fourth door on the right."  
Dutch signed the register.  
"Can you tell me anything about Ms Holm?" Claudette asked. "Oh, I'm not too familiar with the residents. I've only been here a month." "Does anyone come to see her?"  
"Oh sure. Her daughter comes in every Friday at 4, like a clock."  
"Thanks."  
Dutch and Claudette went down the long hall of the glorified nursing home. It was nicer than most, no obvious medical equipment, no foul smells, no nurses milling about. It could almost pass as an apartment complex.  
They found room 76 and Dutch knocked. There was no answer. He tried again. "No use knockin' honey," a voice said from behind. They turned to see a woman in a wheel chair rolling down the hall.  
"Pardon?" Dutch asked.  
"Angie cain't tell you to come in. Just go on in. She's in there. Just come from the beauty shop." "Do you know Angie Holm well?" Claudette asked the woman. "Shore." She was probably in her late fifties only, and looked young for it. She would have fit right in any business or restaurant. The only disability was apparently the wheelchair. "She's been here longer than me. An that's goin' on three years. Sweet as can be." "But she can't talk?" "Oh Lordy no. Never has." "Well, thank you." They went inside.  
The room was well furnished and decorated with care. Overstuffed chairs and lined draperies made it look like a bedroom in a mansion. They noticed a woman in the bed, which only vaguely resembled a hospital bed.  
"Ms Holm?" Claudette asked, approaching.  
The woman was awake, watching a program on TV, or at least staring at it. She didn't turn when her visitors arrived. "Ms Holm, my name is Claudette Wyms. I'm a police officer."  
Still no response.  
Just then, a young woman in a pale pink pants suit came from the adjoining bathroom. She wore a nametag that proclaimed her to be Donna Sonji, RN.  
She smiled. "Hello."  
Claudette and Dutch went through introductions again.  
"Well, I'm Ms Holm's nurse. Obviously, she can't help you much. What brings you by?"  
"Well, we're investigating the death of some of her old college friends. We thought she might be of some help. How long has she been.like this?" Dutch asked.  
"It's a state of catatonia," the nurse explained. "She's been this way for almost six years."  
"What caused it?"  
"She was in a car accident, hit head on into a cement barrier. She was in a coma for seven months. She became alert, but all her functions never quite returned."  
"Her daughter comes to see her?"  
"Missy, oh goodness yes. Every week on Fridays. I don't think she's ever missed one in all these years."  
"And Missy pays for all this?"  
"Well, I'm not sure. The business office handles all that, but I suppose."  
"Where can we find the business office?" %% %% %%  
  
Outside Angie Holm's room on their way to the business office, Dutch sighed.  
"Well, she's certainly not our killer."  
"There's the daughter," Claudette said with a shrug.  
"But why? She wouldn't have known any of the men."  
"Maybe. Maybe mom was hiding something."  
They went to the business office and within minutes, had their answer.  
  
%% %%  
%%  
  
"So Angie Holm's bills are paid for by Sam Holligan. That's a twist."  
  
"I think we really need to find Missy Holm," Claudette said.  
  
"I think you're right."  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
Lem and Ronnie were taking turns "babysitting" the teenage girl. Vic arrived a little later with pizza in hand.  
The girl, who'd finally admitted her real name was Rachel, tore into it hungrily, while Vic sat at the table opposite her. "So, you know we have a problem here," he told her. She nodded, wiping sauce from her lips. "Yeah. You're afraid I'm gonna find a reporter or another cop and rat out you friend."  
Vic shrugged. "Something like that."  
She drank some of the soda that Vic had brought, and then chewed her lip for a minute. "Maybe not."  
"No? Maybe not why?"  
"Maybe not if I wasn't around." "Where would you maybe be if you weren't here?" This had been Vic's idea. To get the girl to want to leave on her own.  
"I've got a friend. She lives in Toledo. She has her own apartment and everything. If I had money, I could go there. I could go to school, like she is. Beauty school, you know, learn how to cut hair and do nails and stuff?" Vic nodded. "Sounds nice." Jinx ate more pizza. "Yeah," she said, her mouth half full. "An' if I had money for school, and I could get a job." she continued.  
Vic had already planned to pay the girl enough to keep her mouth closed. But she had come up with the plan herself. Hell if she hadn't been a street hustler.  
"So with a ticket to Toledo and some money for school and clothes and to help out your friend, you'd maybe forget about what you saw down at the docks?"  
"Hey, I'm not stupid. I don't want to live on the street all my life. I can't get a deal like this every day. Hell yeah I'll go. For the right price. And you and your buddies will never hear from me again."  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
The Next Day..............  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Aceveda corralled Claudette and Dutch as soon as he spotted them. "Any leads on the Walsh matter?"  
"Well, in between the actual murder investigation we've been working," Claudette grumbled. She handed him a thin report. "we managed to come up with squat."  
"The kid's only been in trouble once since he'd been here. He stole from a grocery store. There's no ties to the meth guys whatsoever," Dutch explained.  
"Then why do you suppose he went after Mackey?" Aceveda asked, feigning ignorance.  
"Maybe he met him once," Claudette muttered under her breath. "We don't know Captain. There seems to be no good reason."  
"So maybe the shooting was unjustified?"  
"We didn't investigate that," Dutch clarified. "Just the kid's background, friends, connections. And there just wasn't that much."  
Aceveda just nodded. He was sure he'd made his point. And that was that the Walsh kid had no reason to try and attack a police officer. So maybe that's where Vic and Shane's story was thin. And that is what he would present to his inside connection on the shooting panel.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Shane Vendrell wore a brown suit that still fit well, though it had been closeted since his last court appearance. He matched a tan stripped tie with the suit and managed to clean up rather well. He arrived at the IAD building early. He smoked outside and waited for Vic. Vic too arrived a few minutes early and met Shane out front.  
Vic had donned a dark blue suit with a white shirt and blue pin stripe tie. His dark sunglasses made him look like a Mafioso rather than a police officer.  
Shane crushed out his cigarette in the potted plant.  
"You ready for this?" Vic asked his long time partner and friend.  
They were about to appear before the Internal Affairs Department shooting board that would determine whether or not Shane's shooting of the Walsh kid was justified and within police procedure.  
Shane shrugged. He was still struggling with his feelings over the questionable shoot. "Just keep it straight, it'll be fine," Vic reassured, in a low tone as people filed into the building.  
"Vic, this is really messed up," Shane hissed.  
"Messed up or not, if you don't hold out, your ass will be working assigned to dog shit duty in Pomona. Just tell it like we said it. Like it happened. I'll pull in the slack."  
Shane reluctantly nodded. He knew Vic was right and again, his team leader was bailing his ass out of the fire. What Vic said might not have been the right thing to do, but it was the only thing that could be done for Shane to keep his position.  
They went inside the government building together.  
  
The IAD shooting board was made up of three IAD investigators, all from the LAPD and had previously been detectives, a civilian auditor appointed by the Police Commissioner and a member of the Police policy division.  
Vic knew the IAD investigators. There was Travis Clay, a 50 something former homicide detective, Robert Webb, also a former homicide detective, and Lynden Polanski a former Lt in Burglary, who had always been considered somewhat of a rat, even in his division. Vic had also been informed of who the civilian auditor was, Jenna Wade, a political dolly of the Commissioner and large supporter of Captain Aceveda. The policy writer was Demont Lerger, the only African American on the board and somewhat of a nerd, never having been on the street; he kept his opinions to himself except if there was some kind of policy to be quoted. Vic knew the ones to watch out for were Wade and Polanski. He also knew Webb and Clay, who were from the 'old school' would vote to clear Shane right away. Lerger would go with the majority. That left only the other two to possibly throw a wrench in the works.  
  
The members of the board filed in. They sat at a long table in the front of the room. There was one chair directly in front of them, which was where the person testifying would sit. Then there was a bench in the back for any witnesses.  
The stenographer took her seat near the window.  
  
Shane went to the 'hot seat'.  
  
Clay, the board chairman, carried Shane's rather thick personnel file.  
  
"Detective Vendrell, you're before the Internal Affairs Division Panel on Officer Involved civilian death. We are investigating the shooting death of one James M. Walsh, aged 15 of July 27 of this year," Clay began for the record. "Officer Vendrell, you have given sworn testimony to the board on July twenty nine. In this testimony you stated the shooting was necessitated by the threat to a fellow officer. Is that correct?"  
Shane nodded. "Yes."  
"Is there anything you wish to modify in your testimony? You're free to review the transcripts at this time."  
Shane shook his head. "No. I don't need to review the transcripts. I don't have any changes."  
"Det. Vendrell," Jenna Wade, the civilian a woman in her late twenties or early thirties with long dark hair spoke. "In your file it states you have had 8 formal complaints, and 3 shooting boards in a ten year career. Don't you find this to be excessive?"  
Vic rolled his eyes. Here we go, he thought.  
"Ma'am, I can't judge how a felon is going to react when law enforcement officers attempt to take him into custody. I've been shot at over 50 times, hit at least 20 times, spit on, kicked, and cussed out more times than I can count. So I'm glad at least one side is keeping good records."  
Nice.  
"Detective Vendrell, you may step down," Clay said then, interrupting any more input from Jenna Wade.  
"Detective Mackey, would you take a seat?"  
  
Vic and Shane traded places.  
Clay read off the same formal address about the statement Vic had given previously as well, and added the same question, if Vic wanted to change or modify his previous testimony. "I do not wish to change anything, but I would like to add now that if it were not for Detective Vendrell, I might be severely injured or even dead. No matter what kind of weapon, it can inflict damage. I stand behind my partner's decision and would have made the same one myself, had the roles been reversed."  
"Thank you detective."  
"Detective Mackey," Polanski was at it now. "Isn't it true that there were severe allegations against you and your Strike Team, of which Det. Vendrell is a member, earlier this year?" "Lieutenant Polanski," Webb interrupted. "I don't see the bearing that has on this particular investigation." "Well, myself, like Ms Wade, have concerns about the particularly high use of violence that this entire unit has been able to brandish unrestricted over the city at large. I'm trying to establish a point that not only does detective Vendrell have a spotted record, but it is condoned by his team mates and team leader, who have rather tarnished records of their own."  
Now it was on between Polanski and Webb.  
"Lt, the Strike Team is not the target of the investigation here. Lets try and focus on Detective Vendrell and the shooting of July twenty seven." Polanski reluctantly shut up. He'd gotten his point noted on record. Vic was questioned again about his viewpoint. He remained true to his story. Shane had to admire Vic for one thing: a good memory. He always seemed to manage to keep up with the details, whether fact of fiction.  
"The panel will recess for 20 minutes. Detective Vendrell, please return at that time for board judgment. Detective Mackey, you are dismissed."  
  
Shane and Vic went back outside. Shane needed a damn cigarette. So much for trying to quit this week.  
"What'da you think?" Shane asked Vic.  
Vic smiled with confidence.  
"I think it'll be fine. Clay and Webb put those two in their place pretty quick."  
Shane still had his doubts as he went back into the building alone. Vic had left to go make sure Jinx made her bus. She was the only loose end. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Jenna Wade used her last few minutes before the board reconvened to make a phone call.  
  
"David, it's me. I did my best, but Vendrell's going to clear."  
On the other end of the line, Captain Aceveda sighed.  
  
%%%% %%%%% %%%%  
  
Shane took the chair again as the board members filed in. He couldn't help but feel his palms began to sweat.  
Detective Webb read the brief. "Detective Vendrell, the Internal Affairs Department, Division of the Los Angeles Police Department, in the matter of the shooting of James M. Walsh on July 27 of this years finds you within policy of this department. You are herby reinstated to active duty."  
  
Shane felt at least that weight now drop off his shoulders.  
  
He walked with a lighter step as he left the IAD building. He was halfway to his truck when he heard high heels clicking behind him.  
"Detective Vendrell," a woman called.  
He glanced back and was none to happy to see Jenna Wade, the commissioner's appointee following him.  
He slowed but didn't stop walking.  
"Can I have a word with you?" she continued, finally catching up to him.  
"What? Didn't you have enough fun in there?" he asked spitefully. He didn't have to answer to her now.  
"I just wanted you to know that although you've been cleared by the board, I along with other concerned citizens, do not consider this matter to be over."  
Shane stopped at his truck and whirled on the woman. "Lady, why don't you do a couple of tours on the street and then come talk to me about your high standards and moral values!" he said hotly.  
Jenna took a step back, but never broke eye contact. "Between you and me, Vendrell, I know there was a witness. I just can't find her. If I find out you, or any one in your thug squad had something to do with her disappearance, I'll make sure you all fall like dominoes."  
Shane was a little shocked that this 'auditor' knew about the girl. How in the hell.? He was too angry to reply.  
"Whatever," he growled; opening his door and then slamming it, leaving Wade standing on the curb. He peeled out into the street, tires squeezing.  
He immediately dialed Vic on his cell phone. "Yeah," Vic answered.  
"Did the package get dropped off?" he asked, unnerved by what the brassy Jenna Wade had told him.  
"It's cruising down the 5 even as we speak. Why?"  
"I'll talk to you back at the barn."  
"I take it your board was okay then?"  
  
"In policy," he confirmed.  
"Good. I'll be there in about 10." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Claudette and Dutch had the landlord open the door of Missy Holm's apartment. They had the warrant in hand, but she didn't appear to be home.  
"I hope nothin' happened to Missy," the elderly apartment owner told Claudette. "She always pays the rent on time."  
"I'm sure she'd fine," Claudette said. "We'll just be a few minutes looking around, alright?"  
  
He nodded and left them.  
Dutch had already headed to the bedroom.  
Claudette looked through the living area of the college dorm-esque apartment that had a view of the alley below.  
Dutch came back moments later, carrying a photograph album in his surgical gloved hands.  
"Take a look."  
Claudette looked into the open book. There were pictures, and newspaper articles relaxed to each of the five men. The three dead and the two living.  
"Well, that's interesting," Claudette agreed.  
There were also a number of actual photos that were taken when the men were college age. Most featured the young woman the detectives now knew as Angie Holm, Missy's mother.  
"And so it this," Dutch flipped to a page he'd found in the book.  
".College Campus on Alert after Student Raped." Claudette read the headline of the 1972 paper. She went on to read the story of the 'unnamed 21 year old female student' who was treated in the emergency room after reporting being raped on campus. The woman reported not being able to identify her attacker.  
"Obviously, Missy, and or Angie Holm believe it was one of the five buddies that raped her," Dutch said.  
"And one is Missy's father," Claudette deduced. "More than likely the one paying Angie's bills."  
"But maybe not. And if the father wasn't Holligan, why would she want to murder her own father?"  
Claudette shrugged. "It wasn't exactly the most romantic experience of Angie Holm's life. Not something a child would ever want to know about."  
"But Missy does know. And she's taking revenge for her mother."  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Jenna Wade met David Aceveda in a small, dim Chinese Restaurant that one would have been hard pressed to find if they had not been looking. It was safe for him to go there, especially to meet another woman, when the press was always after a scandal to smear his campaign.  
Jenna wore a black business suit jacket and skit and a red blouse. Her long dark hair was pinned up. She didn't admit, hardly even to herself, that she was attracted to the handsome Captain. She knew he was married and that he had no intention of leaving his wife and baby. But that didn't stop her from at least pondering the idea. She knew David was only interested in her for the reason that she held the same goals as he: get the Strike Team off the street.  
Jenna had been working for the commissioner long enough to know that there was no good that could come from having a 'hit squad' on the police force. She had studied files and reports, mainly concerning the team, for months. She had a very good idea that they had been dipping into the drug money they were supposed to be keeping off the street, even before the headlines broke. Basically, she thought Vic Mackey and his crew were thugs, who didn't belong in the business of enforcing the law.  
Aceveda took the chair opposite her and smiled.  
"Good to see you again," he said. They ordered tea from the oriental girl that appeared, then as quietly retreated to get their drinks.  
"Well, like you said would probably happen, Clay and Webb beat down anything me or Lt Polanski had to say," Jenna told Aceveda.  
He nodded. "I knew Mackey would call in favors on it. He and Clay go back." He was frustrated that every time it looked like he would get somewhere, make a chip in the Strike Team's armor, there was always someone there to patch the holes.  
"I told Vendrell that I knew about the witness."  
David raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected her to let that out so soon. "What did he say?" "Nothing. He took off. I know it shook him."  
That was something, Aceveda supposed. "Do we have any more information on the girl?"  
Jenna shook her head. "No. Unfortunately, she seems to have disappeared."  
"Damn. No doubt Mackey had a hand in that as well."  
"More then likely. But I'm still looking."  
David smiled again. He knew Jenna was charmed by him, as were many, and he wasn't above using that to achieve his ends. "You're doing a wonderful job," he encouraged her. She blushed slightly. "Thank you David."  
Indeed, he might be able to get many things accomplished using his undercover operative.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Vic and Shane met in the Strike Team office. Vic had also called Ronnie and Lem off the street. He'd left Tavon out beating the bushes for the third meth cook, whom they'd not been able to apprehend yet.  
"Hey man," Lem greeted Shane. "Heard your board went okay." Shane nodded. "Yeah, but we got a problem."  
"What kind?" Vic wanted to know.  
"My guess is the Aceveda kind. That civilian auditor Jenna Wade told me after the board that she knew about the girl."  
"What?" Vic demanded. "How much did she know?"  
Shane shrugged. "I dunno. I didn't stick around to find out. She just said this wasn't over and she knew there was a witness. And that the Strike Team was going down."  
"Damn," Vic said. "She's got more balls than I gave her credit for."  
"You think she's working with Aceveda?" Ronnie asked.  
"Anything's possible. We've got to at least assume that. Ronnie, get on the computer and see what you can dig up on her. See if there's any ties to Captain Crusader."  
Ronnie nodded.  
"Well, Jinx is on a bus to Toledo and has enough cash to get her started. She's got no reason to come back here. No one can track her, I made damn sure of that," Vic said, thinking out loud. "They won't find her."  
"There's always a chance," Shane argued.  
"Look, this chick isn't going to get anywhere. No matter who's pulling her strings," Vic assured them. "We'll take care of it." Vic, Shane and Lem were on their way back out when Tavon Garris came in the front door escorting a handcuffed prisoner. Shane glanced at Vic. "New guy's been busy. Isn't that our third cook?"  
Vic nodded. "Looks like," he said with a smile.  
They watched as Tavon escorted the felon to the cage for the booking officer.  
He finished up, and then walked over to Vic and the others.  
"Way to go there, Tav," Vic said, slapping the younger officer on the back.  
"I rounded him up back at his mom's, like you said," Tavon said with a shrug.  
"Nice job. That wraps up this whole meth lab crew and all the ends are tied nice and neat."  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Claudette and Dutch waited in the overstuffed chairs of Angie Holm's room. It was after three on Friday. By all accounts, the wayward Missy Holm was due any minute.  
Sure enough, just about four o'clock, the door opened and a strikingly pretty woman with red hair came inside.  
She didn't immediately see the detectives, being focused on her mother, who was in bed, staring at the television.  
"Hey mamma," she said with a bright smile. Then it faded as she noticed the detectives.  
Claudette and Dutch stood up.  
"Yes?" she asked, reluctantly. "Detectives Holland and Wyms. Missy Holm?" She nodded. "We need to ask you a few questions."  
Missy sank down on the chair by her mother's bed and took the older woman's hand.  
"Gene Schultz, Greg Kozlawski, Bill Henzler?" Dutch asked.  
Missy didn't respond right away, then wiped at her eyes.  
"It ate at her," she finally said, speaking to the detectives but looking at her mother. "She was never right. I was fifteen years old when she finally told me. The day before she ran her car into the wall."  
"Your mother told you she was raped?" Claudette asked gently.  
Missy nodded. "She didn't know who it was, but it was one of her college friends, one of the five men in this picture?" Dutch placed the old photo on the bed where missy could see it.  
The young woman looked up at Dutch with teary eyes. "It wasn't just one of them. It was all of them."  
"Dear Lord," Claudette whispered.  
Dutch swallowed. "And.one of them is your father?"  
Missy nodded.  
"Sam Holligan?"  
"I don't know. Maybe he was just the only one with a conscience. When he heard about Mom, I was taking care of her, trying to go to school. He had her put here, paid for everything, put me through school.."  
"Did you plan on killing him too?"  
Her tears fell freely. "I had to do it. Look what they did to her!"  
Dutch and Claudette looked at each other.  
"Missy Holm, you have the right to remain silent.you have the right to an attorney."  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Shane walked with Stevie out to the U-Haul truck. Her car was on a trailer behind the truck.  
It was early evening, and he happened to notice how the setting sunlight shined on her long hair making it glow golden. He knew he'd screwed up bad.  
"So you're really going," he said, more of a statement than a question.  
She stopped at the door of the truck. She nodded. "Looks like."  
"Than I guess there's nothin' I can say to change your mind."  
She shook her head. She was doing all she could to keep from crying in front of him.  
He pulled her into a hug. "Then good luck baby," he whispered as he held her.  
After a few moments, they broke.  
"I better get going."  
Shane nodded. He hated goodbyes.  
"I wish you'd stay," he said simply.  
"I can't."  
"I know."  
She got into the truck then and he stood at the open window.  
"Call me sometime; tell me about that hot weather down there." Stevie tried to smile. "I will." She reached out and gently touched his cheek. "Bye Shane."  
He stepped away from the U-Haul and she started it up and slowly pulled away from the curb.  
  
Shane watched until she turned the corner and was gone. He could do nothing but stick his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shuffle back into the house.  
  
********************************************************** If my love is not enough to hold you down * Then what more can I give to you* If I could reach into your heart somehow* And find a way to make you stay*  
  
But I can't turn the tide* When It's going out on me* I can't keep you here* If you want to leave* A sailor's at the mercy of the sea* I can't turn the tide* When it's going out on me*  
  
In my heart I only want the best for you* And I hope you find what you're looking for* Life goes on there's nothing else that I can do* And if it's meant to be you'll come back to me*  
  
But I can't turn the tide* When it's going out on me* I can't keep you here if you want to leave* No I can't turn the tide.. 


End file.
